“So, you’re going to shoot us, now?” I said with a sneer. “For coming to pick up our friend who was walking around in a field? I’m sure Chief Rogers will support your actions. He’s very understanding that way.”

The security guard hesitated. Anyone with any exposure to the Dunnville police force—on either side of the desk—knew that Chief Charles Rogers was not someone you wanted to cross. A retired army drill sergeant, he’d been described as Buford T. Justice without the funny bits. Not an exaggeration, based on my very few encounters with him.

The guard glanced at the suit, who responded with a disgusted expression and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Fine,” he said, “but please remember, Mr. Ross, that the north field is part of the Tate property. We’d just as soon not have someone with your, erm, preoccupations associated with us. Next time we will simply press charges.”

“So who are you guys?” Phil walked between and slightly behind us, shifting his gaze back and forth as if he was scared to miss anything. In person, he was even odder than his picture. Besides the hair, he was several days’ worth of unshaven, but not the cool kind of unshaven like TV characters—more of a “got tired of shaving partway through” look. He also had an eyebrow twitch that reminded me of the psychic on an old X-Files episode.

I stopped and turned to face him. “We’re colleagues of Tim. TimJay666 to you. He informed us that you might be in a bit of trouble and gave us an address.”

Eyebrow up. “Huh. And how did he know this?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” I replied. “Need to know, and all.”

Patrick snorted without looking directly at Phil, but otherwise didn’t contribute.

Phil pulled the cloaking detector out of an inside pocket and held it out. I glanced quickly back at the administration office, but they’d need to have a system worthy of an astronomical observatory to pick up anything at this distance.

“This thing is supposed to detect invisible objects,” he continued. “It vibrated when I was in the field, and it vibrated when the slimy guy in the suit came into the room. He didn’t look invisible, though. Just slimy.” He waved the detector at me. “You know anything about this device?”

“Classified. Sorry.”

Other eyebrow up. “My ass. This is alien technology. Are you aliens? Are you the same aliens as the one in the freezer? Do you work for TimJay666?”

“No, Mr. Ross, we are not any of those things. We’re locals, born and raised.”

“Especially not that last item,” Patrick interjected.

Phil frowned. “Uh huh. Who are you with, then?”

“What makes you think we’re with anyone?” I said.

“Well, for starters, if your gadgets are classified, someone has to have classified them.”